Chapter Twelve
December was rainier than usual, and a stray cat had taken to skulking about the house.
He had three white freckles behind his one ear, while the rest of him was blacker than the old tar roads.
Certain he and his missing ear were an ill omen, Susu and Tingting shrieked whenever he appeared and shooed him away with their mops.
The cat, however, was persistent. One thing I learned quickly: He hated water.
He’d chosen Gu Ma’s house because it was high on a hill, making it safer from floods.
Every time he visited, rain was imminent—even if the sky was clear.
I wondered whether, like me, he had a touch of demon inside that gave him this power.
On this day he came at dawn when I was cooking breakfast, prowling up to Gu Ma’s house, then climbing over the iron gate and into the myrtle bushes. I loved watching him. He moved with fearless grace, his yellow eyes catching the crowning light of the sun when he tapped on the kitchen window.
“You don’t know how lucky you are,” I told him as I set out a bowl of milk. “Coming and going as you please, getting free food whenever you’re hungry.”
If I tried to pet him, he’d growl, but he started bearing little presents for me—dead garden snakes, lizards, even spiders.
He’d drop them in my room before scuttling out.
I never knew where he went until one day, during a particularly fierce rainstorm, I saw wet paw prints leading up to the third floor.
I wiped them before anyone saw. To my surprise, the trail ended in front of Lily’s door.
She’d heard my footsteps and put on her gloves, thinking I was her mother. At the sight of me, she started. “You’re not supposed to be on this floor.”
I started too, but for a different reason. As she spoke, the cat scurried out from behind a pile of books and nuzzled her ankle.
“He likes you,” I said, astonished. “I didn’t think he liked anyone.”
“He doesn’t.” Lily kept her hand on the door. She was deciding whether or not to trust me. “He likes luncheon meat.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s American.” She tossed her gloves onto her bed. “Canned pork, I think. My school serves it with macaroni and chicken broth, and I steal some to eat at home when Ma—”
She stopped, and I knew what she was about to say: when her mother sent her upstairs without dinner.
“Anyway, Prince Cannonball loves it.”
“Prince Cannonball,” I repeated. As I said it, the cat’s ear swiveled forward. “Is that his name?”
“For how he shoots out of the bushes. It’s like an explosion. Boom! You should see him pounce on mice, he’s terrifying.”
I had to laugh—I could certainly picture it. “He looks hungry.”
“He’s always hungry. We were going to share a can of luncheon meat before you barged in.”
“You were going to eat straight from the can?” I wrinkled my nose. “At least let me cook it for you. Come down, no one’s in the kitchen. Tingting went to Bastion’s with your mother, and Susu’s at the market. There should be meat floss buns, too.”
“They’re Baba’s favorite, not mine.” Lily put her hands on her hips, but her stomach made a telling gulu gulu sound. Sullenly, she scooped the cat under one arm. “Fine,” she said, as if she were doing me a favor.
The kitchen was in a separate building from the house, and I put on a pair of wooden clogs before entering through the sliding door.
Inside smelled of kerosene from the stoves and chicken stock simmering in one of the pots.
I added some lettuce and carrots while Lily peeled the can of American pork open.
The meat inside was pink and gelatinous, and she wriggled it with two chopsticks until it came shuddering out. I sniffed, unable to hide my revulsion.
“Americans call it Spam. During the occupation, they sent it to our soldiers because it keeps forever.”
“Does it really?”
“Long enough. Tingting says that some days, it was all she ate.” Lily cocked her head to one side. “You look skeptical.”
“It doesn’t look appetizing,” I replied.
“It is. You can trust the Americans to create a miracle food. These little cans fed hundreds of thousands of people.”
I believed in visions that told the future, in breaths that could turn one invisible, and curses that could actually be blessings in disguise—not preserved pork in a can. But I couldn’t tell her that. “My mother told me a story about a man who fed a thousand people with one loaf of bread—”
“And turned water into wine?” Lily finished for me. She put her hands on her hips. “Are you a Christian, Jeh Jeh?”
“My mother is. Are you?”
“Mama likes the idea of church. It gives her an excuse to wear lipstick on Sundays. That’s why she sends me to Saint Maria’s.
Most of my teachers are missionaries, and they talk about Jesus every chance they can.
I like their stories, but not the lessons.
If someone slaps your cheek, turn the other cheek.
I wouldn’t do that. I’d slap them right back, and put chili in their eyes. ”
I laughed. “You’re brazen.”
“I go to an all-girls’ school,” said Lily. “It’s the only way to survive. Which reminds me . . .” She fished something out of her pocket. “This is yours.”
It was my wooden comb. I’d spent hours looking for it but had given up. “Where did you find it?”
“I took it,” she said. “I steal things from people I don’t like. Nothing worth much, just small things that’ll annoy them when they go missing.”
I held up the comb. “So you don’t like me.”
“I don’t like anyone who adores my mother,” Lily said plainly. “But you don’t know any better, so I can’t blame you too much. Also, you didn’t have much to take.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or humbled. “Why don’t you like your—”
“Is the soup ready?” Lily interrupted.
“Almost,” I replied, tasting a spoonful from the pot.
I swished a chunk of the pink meat in my mouth before I finally dared to chew.
Miracles upon miracles, it was tasty. It had the savory saltiness of fermented black beans, yet it was smooth and spongy like tofu.
I searched the soup for another piece. “How many of Baba’s socks have you stolen? ”
Lily scoffed. “What’s the fun in taking something that’s already lying around?” She smiled deviously. “I have some of his other things, though. Oh, and Mama’s favorite red lipstick. She’s been searching for it for months.”
I ladled Lily a bowl of macaroni and luncheon meat. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get caught?”
“Ma doesn’t care enough about me to search my room,” she replied. “Besides, she deserves a punishment for what she did to Prince Cannonball.”
“What did she do?”
“Well, it started with Gu Ma. She hates cats, especially strays—she says they’re bad luck, so Ma made dumplings with poison inside and tossed them in the garden. Prince Cannonball ate one and was sick for days. That’s how I found him.”
I couldn’t believe it. “She poisoned him!”
“With those herbs she keeps in the cabinet.” Lily stroked the cat fondly. “He’s fine now, but he wouldn’t touch any food until I peeled open a can of luncheon meat. Watch.”
She took the chunk of luncheon meat I’d set aside and placed it on the ground. Prince Cannonball pounced, devouring his meal greedily.
For the first time, I heard Lily laugh. It was more of a cackle, unbridled and exuberant. I loved it.
“What?” she said, noticing my stare. “You can say it, all the other girls do. I sound like a squawking goose.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I said. “I’m a bumpkin. I happen to know that geese are very intelligent creatures.”
That made Lily cackle again. “Maybe bumpkins aren’t so bad.” She put her elbows on the table, letting go of all formalities. “Do you really not know how to read?”
“I stopped going to school when the Japanese came.”
She scooped a spoonful of macaroni onto the table and shaped the noodles into characters. “What’s this word?”
“Big.”
“This one?”
“Sky.”
“So you know some.” Lily sounded encouraged. “I’m going to teach you more.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Mama doesn’t let me out of the house—I’m bored and have nothing to do.
I’ll teach you, hm, twenty characters each weekend?
Don’t worry if it’s hard at first. Written Cantonese isn’t like we talk.
It’s formal and stuffy. If there’s time, we’ll read some English, too.
Why the look, Gah Jeh, you don’t want to? ”
I bubbled inside, noting Lily had dropped formalities and finally called me “gah jeh” like real sisters. “I do,” I said. “It’s just . . . I’ve tried before. I’m not very bright.”
“Who told you that?”
“Our grandmother.”
Lily snorted. “If you don’t fail, then you won’t learn. And if you don’t learn, then you’ll never amount to anything.”
I paused. “Is that Confucius?”
“That’s Ha Lele,” Lily said pertly. “As for your lessons, we’ll start today. After I finish eating. Deal?”
Even in those days, I was sensitive about my lack of learning. So when Lily offered to teach me without asking anything in return . . . she unlocked the vault to my heart.
“Deal.” I made claws and went for her ribs, tickling her mercilessly. Together we squawked, laughing until our bellies hurt. It was the beginning of our beautiful love.